Agnar, Hunted
Squinting into the darkness of the tenement room, Agnar checked for exits, then foes, then weapons. The door was locked, and the window was closed and fifty feet above the street below. No intruders hid in the shadows of the tiny room. His gun was under his pillow, already in his hand. His sword was in his duffel bag at the foot of the bed. The trumpet case was on the bed next to him.
Agnar tentatively lifted one leg, but grimaced and gently set it down when the creaking bedsprings announced his shifting weight. I’m stuck, unless I want to announce that I’m awake.
Unbroken light shone under the tenement door. When they step in front of the door, I’ll see the shadows of their feet and get a second or two of warning. Two shots to the center of the door, then I grab the case, the duffel bag, then . . . Read the rest of this entry »
